Lyra dipped the ladle into the broth, a steady stream of smoke billowing from the pot and fanning across her face, her stomach growling in response to the delicious scent of spice and chicken. Ladling a generous amount of soup with bits of vegetables and chicken floating about in the creamy brown broth, she poured it into a little dish and set it on the counter next to a small cup of rice.

A soft breeze blew back the curtains and cooled her heated skin, beads of sweat running down the side of her face were wiped away as she turned to look at the fire pit. The fire burned bright, licking the bottoms of the cauldrons where several helpings of soup boiled and a few prickle boars roasted over a spit.

Counting on her fingers, she wasn’t quite sure if it would be enough to feed everyone but she’d have to make due with what they had. The sheer number of baskets filled to the brim with fruits and vegetables waiting to be peeled, barrels of liquors and ales tucked off to the side and cabinets overflowing with breads and the like were taking up so much space.

For a moment, Lyra wondered if they’d even be able to have dinner let alone walk around. Thundering footsteps raced up the dimly lit hall leading to the kitchen and Lyra turned on her heel, returning to the task of stirring the pot of soup.

From the corner of her eye, a little head of curly dark hair appeared and small hands pressed against the counter as the small child pulled himself up enough to see what was on the counter.

His dark brown eyes widened at the sight of the steaming cup and he hesitated, glancing in her direction before snatching a grain of rice to shove between his lips with a wide smile and thoughtful chew.

She said nothing as he tested his luck a bit more, stealing a few more grains until he was bold enough to steal a handful. Though with each go, he grew sloppier with his execution and bits of rice clung to the corner of his lips and his hands.

“Lyra?”

Making a show of noticing his presence, Lyra looked down at him with a soft smile and picked a grain of rice from his cheek. “Yes, Dami?”

“Is it done yet?”

Lyra shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “You’ll have to wait a bit longer.”

“But I’m hungry…” Damiano whined, rocking back and forth on his heels, his face scrunching up as he looked up at her with teary brown eyes.

Lyra shook her head and offered him the cup of rice and bowl of soup. He smiled brightly and took them eagerly, sitting down with his back against the cabinet doors.

Picking a few pieces of rice with his fingers, he brought it to his lips, pausing mid-movement when she offered a spoon to him with an arched brow.

"Why aren't you home with Mama and Papa anyway?" Lyra asked, returning to stirring the pot as he ate.

"Papa wanted to go looking for herbs and Mama went with him, she said I couldn't come because I was little.."

Lyra blinked slowly and glanced down at his pouting face. "...Did Mama say that... or did you make it up?"

His lower lip jutted out as his pouting intensified and Lyra sighed. Of course, she knew their parents had various reasons for not allowing Damiano to wander about at night but explaining them to her brother would’ve only made him even more upset.

Switching the ladle from her left to right hand, she reached down and patted the top of his head while stirring the soup.

"When you're bigger, you'll be able to go outside on your own at night,” she said softly, brushing her fingers against his cheek as he tilted his head back.

"When is that gonna be?"

Lyra smiled faintly as Damiano bounced up and down, smiling from ear to ear, the soup remaining in his bowl sloshing about and splattering on the floor. She tapped the rim of his ear and pointed at the bowl, his eyes widening as he righted it and set it aside, pressing his hands into his lap and grinning up at her.

Sighing softly, she turned back to her cooking and tilted her head up to greet the cool breeze from the kitchen window. There was a scent on the wind, pungent and yet sweet, and her eyebrows furrowed.

Away from the heart of the village, their home lingered on the outskirts of the festivities and the flowers blooming beneath the window sill carried a sweet scent throughout the kitchen. Yet the smell that intertwined with the calming scent was pungent, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue and her lips clamped shut to keep it from going into her mouth.

She pulled at the wooden post keeping the window open and let it slam shut, setting it in the cupboard beneath the sink. Damiano tilted his head, looking up at her with curious eyes and she mustered a smile.

“Soon, Dami,” Lyra says softly, patting down his curls and smoothing her fingers down his cheek, brushing away bits of rice from his pouting lips.

She wasn’t sure where that scent was coming from but the last thing she wanted was Damiano getting caught in it. Damiano huffed and sank down with his back against the cupboard, the bowls and cups polished clean. At least he had the energy to eat and sulk at the same time. A quiet lull fell over them, punctuated with the sound of the boiling soup and sizzling meat turning over the flames. Lyra continued stirring with one hand, the other idly playing with Damiano’s curls, the boy sinking down with his knees tucked to his chest and eyes closed.

Three hard knocks broke the silence and Damiano bolted upright, tripping over his own feet as he clamored to stand and run from the kitchen.

"...I'll get it!" He called over his shoulder, swinging open the door and darting into the hallway, his thunderous footsteps growing fainter as he neared the front of their home.

Lyra eyed his shadow before turning away to continue stirring. Her hand grazing the side of the pot as a translucent hand reached over her shoulder, gently brushing against the edge of the pot.

“It’s not ready yet,” she chided, brushing it aside with the back of her hand.

An echoing growl close to her ear and the heavy presence at her back receded.

“I know that Damiano had an earlier taste but he’s much younger than you.”

The next growl came from within the cupboard, the door rattling on its hinges. Lyra rolled her eyes and knocked her knee against it.

“You might have started living in our home just recently but that doesn’t mean you’re younger than Damiano, experience and age do not mix. And you’re all spirits, don’t tell me that you’re jealous of a child.”

Lyra rested her hand on her hip and flicked her finger, a thin sheen covering the opening of the pot, blocking the steam rising from it. A chorus of whispering growls and sordid sighs picking up before a procession of souls lined the way out of the kitchen. Their translucent forms visible in the light of the fire and gone as they stepped into the darkness of the sitting room. Lyra tapped her spoon on the rim of the pot, peering over her shoulder with furrowed brows.

What was taking Damiano so long?

Putting the spoon aside, she wiped her hands on the lower half of her apron, picking up his empty dishes and sitting them in the sink. Crossing the room, she opened her mouth to call out to Damiano, opening the door that he left out of only to run into something solid.

“Huh?”

Damiano’s snickering laughter accompanied by another’s, deep and warm, rumbling like thunder as large rough hands settled on Lyra’s shoulders to right her. Opening her eyes, Lyra looked up and her breath hitched.

“...Rhea.”

It had been some time since Lyra last laid eyes on her but she was as regal as ever. Strong and imposing, yet with an underlying gentleness that showed in the caress of her fingers along Lyra’s jaw. Calloused hands cupping Lyra’s chin and holding her with such care as if she’d break. Rhea’s skin, a deep bronze, lined with more cuts and marks along her chin and her cheek than Lyra remembered. One in particular over her left eye that seemed smaller when she smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, the sliver of white teeth from behind full lips pulled back in a wry smile.

“My eyes are up here.” The deep timbre of her voice sent tremors through Lyra’s body and she gulped, flicking her gaze up to Rhea’s maroon eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Welcome home..” Lyra said breathlessly, laying her hand on Rhea’s wrist, her nails raking along the back of her fingers.

The scar above Rhea’s eye was smaller as she leant closer, resting her forehead against Lyra’s own. A slight push against the side of her leg making Lyra look away as Damiano hurried past. She quirked a smile and squeezed Rhea’s wrist, meeting her eyes.

“Were you trying to surprise me?”

“That depends, were you surprised?”

Lyra gave a half-hearted shrug, chuckling softly as Rhea nuzzled her cheek and drew her closer, her arms wrapping around Lyra’s waist. Resting her head against Rhea’s shoulder, Lyra felt along her waist and hummed confusedly.

“Where’s your sword?”

“With Ulysses,” Rhea hugged her tighter, resting her cheek against the top of Lyra’s head. “I won’t be needing it.”

Lyra opened her mouth to ask only to be interrupted by Damiano’s call from further in the kitchen.

“Lyra! I think the rice is done.”

“H—“ Lyra gasped, lightly pushing against Rhea, her cheeks burning at the other woman’s throaty chuckle. “Oh right! Hang on, Dami!“

Hurrying back to her brother’s side, Lyra lightly nudged him and went to uncover the lid of the rice cooker. The fire spirit lighting it jumping as Lyra approached and resuming its softer flames. Stirring the rice and checking on it, Lyra frowned and bent lower to catch a glimpse of the fire spirit’s eyes in the crackling flames.

“You weren’t trying to burn our rice again, were you?”

Vehemently, the fire spirit shook itself and the pot began to shake with the force of the wild flames erring from beneath it. Grabbing the lid of the pot, Lyra hissed at the warmth searing her fingertips.

“Alright, alright, I believe you.”

Slowly the flames tamped down and she pulled her hand away, setting the lid on top of the pot and blowing her fingers. Damiano giggled, pressing his hands to his mouth when Lyra fixed him with a narrow-eyed look. Rhea wandered from the kitchen doorway, peering at the pot then the fire spirit.

“Is something wrong with the spirits?” Rhea asked, setting her hand on Damiano’s head as he clung to her leg.

Lyra frowned, watching the steam rise from the pot. “I’m not sure,” she muttered. “More of them have been wandering from the forest which isn’t unusual considering the festival, they’re usually curious… but something is off.”

Damiano tugged at Rhea’s pants leg. “Great Grandma says that something isn’t right with the Wood,” he looked between them and frowned. “Is that why Mama and Papa left?”

Lyra opened her mouth but she wasn’t sure what to say. Wracking her brain for any mention from either of their parents, her fingers curled beneath her chin and she frowned.

“I’m sure they’re just excited for the festival,” Rhea said, her fingers wrapping around Lyra’s own, drawing them from under her chin and toward Rhea’s mouth. Her lips brushing against Lyra’s stinging fingertips, cool against her heated skin, and soft. “And if not, then your mother and grandmother will be able to handle it with your help.”

Lyra smiled appreciatively, squeezing Rhea’s hand.

“Hey, Rhea?” Damiano piped up, tugging at Rhea’s pants leg again, tearing her gaze away from Lyra. “We’ve got time to go outside and fight, right?”

Lyra sighed. “Dami, Rhea just got home.”

“So it’s the perfect time!” Damiano shouted, pumping a fist in the air. “She’s all worn out from traveling, right?” He folded his arms across his chest, cocking his hip with a triumphant grin. “So now I definitely can win.”

Rhea rolled her eyes, kissing the tip of Lyra’s fingers before letting go of her hand. A light thump to the side of Damiano’s head and his indignant cry going ignored, she said, “You know that I can hear you.” Her eyes narrowed at him and he froze, shifting from one foot to the other. “And your tactic is underhanded.”

Lyra could see the sweat forming on Damiano’s forehead as he tried to stand tall beneath the weight of Rhea’s glare. She was somewhat impressed, many grown men buckled beneath Rhea’s steely gaze within seconds. Turning back to the pot, Lyra checked on the rice, hearing the rumbling chuckle of Rhea’s laughter.

“Seems you’ve been learning,” Rhea said, a smile in her voice and Damiano finally took a breath. “Taking advantage of your opponent’s weaknesses is one of the basics of fighting.”

Looking over her shoulder, Lyra smiled at the sight of Damiano attentively listening to Rhea as she gave him instruction. The other woman’s hand resting on top of his head, flattening his curls, his eyes wide as he stared up at her.

“In battle, there is no such thing as fairness and with the right tools and training, anyone can win.”

“Yeah,” Damiano grinned from ear to ear, jamming his fists against his hips and puffing out his chest. “And this time, I'll be the winner.”

Rhea snorted, ruffling his hair before gently pushing him toward the doorway. “We shall see.”

It was all the instruction he needed before he burst through the doorway, rushing upstairs, the clamoring of his feet on the stairs like the sound of an oncoming army. Rhea shook her head, turning toward Lyra with an amused smile tugging at her lips and a quirked brow.

“Still full of energy.”

Lyra chuckled, opening her arms as Rhea approached her. “He’s been counting down the days until you came back,” she said, wrapping her arms around Rhea’s waist and leaning into her. “Sparring against my mother and I just isn’t the same as it is with you.”

The firelight danced in Rhea’s eyes and cast shadows on the hollows of her cheeks. Lyra tracing the square of her jawline with her eyes, noticing a few new nicks and bruises that she hadn’t seen before. Warmth pooled against her cheek, Rhea’s thumb swiping beneath her eye, drawing her attention back to maroon irises darkened by the dimly lit kitchen.

“I suppose I did not know that I was that special."

Lyra frowned, squeezing Rhea around her waist, her hand splayed against her lower back. “Well, you must be happy to know that you are.” She stepped onto the toe of Rhea’s boots, leaning up on her tip toes, her head tipping back and Rhea’s forward. Close enough to share a breath yet far enough that Lyra could make out the curve of Rhea’s smile.

“How long are you staying?” Lyra tilted her head, brushing their lips together, her eyes closing.

Rhea hummed softly, the vibrations carrying on Lyra’s lips. “Three days, four at the most…”

“Are you doing well? Is everything —“ Lyra’s words were cut off with the gentle press of Rhea’s lips to her own. The other woman’s hands caressing her neck and jaw, tangling in her hair as she held her closer.It felt like eternity stretching on, soft warm breaths interrupting their lips meeting again and again. Rhea’s forehead pressing against Lyra’s as they each other close.

“I am happy to be home,” Rhea hugged Lyra tighter, kissing the top of her head.

Lyra hummed softly, smiling as she hugged her close. “As am I.”